


Inheritance

by st_aurafina



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/F, community: xmmficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-25
Updated: 2007-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Elektra's trade the currency is favours, and she's calling one in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 X-Men Movieverse ficathon

The death of Kirigi and his foot soldiers had bought them some time, but any respite from pursuit by the Hand was brief, and perhaps that was for the best. Respite was not a thing with which Elektra felt comfortable, and she suspected the same was so for the Millers. When they spoke of new beginnings and starting afresh, she held her tongue. It might even be true, and with Abby so keen to imitate everything that Elektra did, Elektra kept her cynicism in check. For Abby, she would face down the terror of a normal life.

As it was, there was a polite break in the conflict, long enough to repair the damage and put the dead to rest. It was not long enough for Elektra to give form to the uneasy fears that seemed to loom ever closer every day that she spent wrapping up the destruction wrought by the Hand in pursuit of the Treasure. She crossed items from her mental to-do list, and dreaded the inevitable approach of the day when she had nothing left to do. On her last day in New York, having dealt with lawyers and realtors and the executors of McCabe's will, she found herself standing at the window of her hotel room with her door key still in her hand. Outside, far above the streets, the air was cold and serene – frost wasn't far away. Elektra pressed her hand to the window. If she waited, she would see the crystals coalesce on the glass. If she remained still.

When her phone rang, she was standing in darkness, gooseflesh raised on her arms and legs, even under her wool coat. The display showed Mark's number. She pressed a button, and listened to Abby's voice, raucous with panic. They were on the road. Abby was driving. Her father was hurt. She didn't know what to do. On the other end of the line, it was raining – Elektra could hear the wipers beating a frantic rhythm against the glass. She picked up her bag from the door, and headed to the lobby, feeding instructions calmly down the phone line to Abby: drive slowly and carefully, don't attract attention, pull off at the next exit, find a motel and check in, use cash. As she passed through the sliding door to the street, tiny flakes of snow caught in her eyelashes and melted. She had missed the freezing point.

 

The motel was, as Abby described it, a sleaze-hole. Elektra picked flechette darts out of Mark's back and listened with half an ear as Abby described with relish the various disgusting innuendoes the clerk had made when she checked in with her father leaning heavily on her shoulder.

"I told him I was here with my dad. And he said he didn't care if he was my grandpa, as long as we paid up front. I mean, ew." Abby leaned over Elektra's shoulder to watch her tease a tiny dart out with the forceps. "Is he going to be okay?" She tapped her toe against the base of the bed in a staccato cadence, and the flimsy frame quivered.

"You're in the light." Elektra nudged her aside with her hip. "They're not poisoned. He'll need some stitches in a minute."

Face down on the bed, sedated with the contents of the mini-bar, Mark moaned. "Are you qualified?"

Elektra pressed one knee into the small of his back to hold him still. She reached up between his shoulder blades where one dart had broken off under the skin. "I've had a lot of practice." She wrapped the darts in the bloodied towel, and threw them to Abby. "They might have trackers. Flush them."

Abby caught the bundle reflexively without processing what they were, then curled her lip, and held the damp cloth with as few fingers as possible. "Ew!"

Elektra held the curved needle up to the light and guided the sterile suture through the eye. The light was weak, and her fingers were slick with blood, but the thread didn't waver.

 

Two motels and two states later, Elektra was behind the wheel of a stolen Mercedes sedan. Abby sat in the passenger seat with her legs curled under her, looking behind her to the back seat, where her dad was sleeping face down, his shirt stuck to his back where the wounds had seeped through their dressings. Abby had adjusted to life on the lam quickly, becoming adept at switching licence plates and picking pockets. Elektra didn't like her enthusiasm, or her tendency to improvise – they didn't have the resources to allow for a beginner's mistakes. McCabe would have laughed till he threw up. She tightened her hands on the wheel.

"I'm going to make a call." Elektra pulled the car smoothly onto the exit ramp, indicating carefully and never going above the speed limit.

"Why? Who is there to call?" Abby knew too much about Elektra's life – put together from training camp gossip and all the clues she'd squirreled away with her greedy, eager teenage mind.

"I'm calling in a favour." Elektra double backed over the freeway, checking for pursuit, then pulled into a truck-stop café. "Put your shoes back on, you never know when you'll have to run."

Abby obediently shoved her feet into her trainers. "People owe you favours? Doesn't that mean you had to do favours for them?"

"Favours are the currency of my trade." Elektra pushed a handful of notes into the girl's hand. "Go and buy something to eat. And coffee."

"You mean 'layoffs and payroll reductions?'" Abby was sceptical. "Are you even in that trade anymore?"

Elektra gave her a shove with her foot, and a look that said Abby had asked too much. "Run." Questions for which she didn't have answers were beyond her scope as caretaker.

The book was small, and leather-bound, and had no names, only mnemonics. Her finger lingered over the series of numbers that called an apartment in Hell's Kitchen, then moved on. She wasn't ready to call that number yet. She turned to the page with S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts. The situation wasn't so dire that she was willing to sell Abby out to Nick Fury. Garrett was too unstable to be relied upon. The Black Widow was in Monaco, and anyway, would be sure to take liberties. She paused at a number on a page all alone, written some years ago when she had known much less than she thought, and someone had been kind enough to point it out to her. There were only a few high-dollar assassins working at any given time, and a certain level of proprietary care is extended to those who survive long enough to climb to that level. Mystique had been a mentor of sorts back then, and though both would effortlessly kill the other if the need arose, there was an understanding between the two women. Elektra remembered sinuous limbs and a dry voice that had been honest to the point of cruelty. There were certain topics about which the woman could not be approached, but neither Elektra nor the Millers were mutants, so the issue shouldn't come up. She thought of Abby – ridiculously certain that she knew everything, but aping Elektra at every opportunity. This was a situation that Mystique would appreciate. She dialled the number and made the appointment.

 

The meeting was set, at a local mall – nice and open, with plenty of security. Elektra parked the car underground between two concrete pillars. She made Abby sit in the driver's seat and quizzed her on the list of safe houses and caches while she strapped on weapons. Abby scowled, but recited them correctly.

"If I'm not back in an hour, get out of here." Elektra shrugged into a concealing coat with swirling skirts and smoothed the collar down flat.

"You better be coming back." Abby slouched down low behind the wheel, and turned the radio up. Elektra leaned in the driver's window across the teenager's body and switched the radio off, then snapped the volume control off completely, dropping it into the cup-holder with a rattle.

"Yeah, that's not suspicious – a teenager sitting in a completely silent car." Abby cast mutinous glares at Elektra's back as she walked towards the entrance of the mall.

Mystique had promised to make her identity known as soon as Elektra entered the food court – a necessary arrangement when meeting with a shape-shifting mutant. That Elektra was able to identify her as she wove between the tables was a good sign – Mystique may be able to change her appearance, but unless she really cared to hide it, her body language was as much of an identifying characteristic. Elektra walked to the table in the middle of the hall, and the woman with high cheekbones and dark hair piled on the top of her head stood up to greet her.

The embrace she expected – a quick squeeze with hands that slid briefly over her ribs, and crossed at the small of her back where she had strapped a pair of throwing knives. The hands drew back, fingertips brushing the place where her sai nestled against her wrists. This was a perfectly reasonable assessment, and one that Elektra had reciprocated – a brief touch here and there, a statement that each knew where the other's strengths lay. What was not expected was the open-mouthed kiss, on the mouth and against her neck and a quick exhalation of warm air against the skin. Elektra tensed the muscles in her back – this was an intrusion. Mystique laughed, and smoothed Elektra's hair with a soothing gesture. She sat down, crossed her legs, and ran her hands over her own perfect chignon.

Elektra sat, and let the handle of a sai press reassuringly against her palm. This would go well, and she would walk out, and drive Abby to a new life.

Mystique smiled, her head tilted back, showing her teeth, which in this body were straight and square. "Tell me all about it, dear."

"I want you to broker a deal with the Hand." Elektra made her opening bid – much too high, as would be expected.

Coffee arrived, carried by a surly waiter, lip curled into a perpetual sneer. Mystique spooned sugar into her petite cup and stirred thoughtfully. "From what I've heard, no money would buy a deal like that. The Hand is after your blood."

"Money is irrelevant. I've seen you settle more difficult disagreements." Elektra lined her spoon up against her saucer, nudging it into position with one finger. Something was tugging at her peripheral vision, and she let her gaze slide slowly along the tiled floor towards it.

"That is true." Mystique took a sip of the thick, dark liquid, and watched Elektra over the rim of her cup with eyes that were laughing.

Abby stood by a glass case of rotisserie chickens, leaning against the counter with her hip stuck out, all pert adolescent insouciance. Beside her leaned the sulky waiter, his hand held up to his mouth as though he was whispering to her. Abby met Elektra's gaze with what she obviously considered to be a look of great significance, and all but waggled her eyebrows towards the waiter. The waiter opened his hand in a lazy gesture, allowing Elektra to see the apparatus strapped to his palm, the nozzle pointing towards Abby's face. Elektra's stomach fell.

Mystique sipped elegantly at her coffee. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt your little chicken." She put her cup down with a click. "The deal is good. I'll take care of your problem. All I want you to do is sit here and finish your coffee." She stood up, and walked away from the table, before Elektra had a chance to speak – she already knew Elektra would agree.

 

The sulky waiter bought Abby a milkshake, and she stared at him in disdain, then opened her mouth to complain. His badge said "Hi, My Name is John!"

"Shut up, and drink it." Elektra's coffee sat ignored on the table, as she scanned the upper and lower levels of the food court. She was less startled now – Mystique had agreed to settle things with the Hand, and that arrangement required something from Elektra to balance the deal. Whatever it was, Abby would not be hurt. These things were agreed on, and it was not worth Mystique's reputation to break such an agreement. She leaned over her chair to look at the waiter skulking close to their table.

"Any clues you'd care to divulge?"

The waiter shrugged, his fingers resting against the leather harness on his palm. "You'll figure it out. She said you were sharp enough." He was typical of Mystique's henchmen – lean and alert, with the air of fanaticism about him that was a trademark of Mystique's own weakness. Passion for a cause made one vulnerable. Elektra had always tried to avoid such entanglements. She watched Abby poke at the foam in her glass with the coloured straw and her stomach clenched. Elektra did not find the concept as exhilarating as Mystique obviously did.

The stale, recirculated air filling the mall swirled, lifting the hair on the back of Elektra's neck. Heads turned, and the murmur of conversation swelled as three people strode purposefully between the tables, moving as one group, as though they were more accustomed to wearing uniforms. The woman who led the arrowhead moved like a cat, her white hair shifting gently in the breeze that seemed to purposefully envelope the three. More spectacular was the man in the pin-striped suit, his face, covered with blue fur, was sharp and intelligent. The most dangerous, however, was the man who lurked a little behind, muscles tensed to react, head tilted back a little, as though he was catching the scents carried on the breeze. These were more of Mystique's fanatics, though who fought on whose side at any given time was an impenetrable mystery to Elektra. She found the endless pageantry of their crusade spectacularly boring. She concentrated on finding her exits, plotting her path to freedom with as much cover as possible for Abby.

"John." The waiter had moved to stand between Elektra's table and the oncoming trio of mutants, and the woman in the lead addressed him. "We received a message. Mystique wanted to meet with us."

John held his hands out in a placating gesture. "I guess that's between you and the boss lady, then." He tilted his head towards Elektra's seat with a subservient nod. Elektra met his gaze, looked across at the X-Men. That was the game, then. She adjusted her posture, narrowed her eyes and adopted a calculating, hungry gaze. Tilted her head. Rested the end of her tongue against her teeth.

The man with blue fur – the one called Beast, stared in open astonishment. "Mystique? You are able to change shape again? But how is this possible? The Cure is, as far as we know, permanent."

Mystique had taken - or been given - the Cure? Elektra filed that fact away for examination later, and concentrated on imitating the supercilious smile that Mystique liked to wear on other people's faces. "As far as we know, it is." She copied the inflection of Beast's words, as though she were trying on the tone of his voice like a pair of shoes. If Mystique wanted the X-Men to believe that Elektra was the body Mystique had chosen to wear today Elektra had a fine memorybank of Mystique's signature tics to convince them.

The woman, Storm, looked dubious. "Logan?"

The man at the back, the dangerous one she hadn't had a name for, pushed forward, his nostrils flaring. Enhanced senses – Elektra suddenly understood the reason for Mystique's lingering embrace. She twisted her hands so that the smooth skin of her wrists were uppermost – Mystique had held her hands there the longest.

The man frowned. "Scent's confusing with shape-shifters, but I know that smell." He looked at Elektra for a long time. She bared her teeth at him, a familiar gesture of Mystique's that she knew Mystique reserved for those who overstepped her boundaries.

Beast leaned close to the woman, Storm, and spoke in a low voice. "If the cure is temporary, then Mr Lehnsherr's powers cannot be far away from returning either. We should return to the school." The woman nodded, and her eyes were grim. Elektra almost laughed – they were so caught up in their little feuds; it made manipulating them too easy.

The woman, Storm, looked at Abby, who was watching this remarkable exchange with wide eyes. "Mystique, we cannot allow you to continue recruiting young mutants." She held out her hand to Abby, "Come with us, and we can return you to your family."

Abby was outraged. "I'm so not going with you. Oh, my God, I'm so not, because my dad would be pissed. And I'm not prejudiced, or anything, but you shouldn't call people mutants if they aren't mutants. Not that I'd be ashamed if I were a mutant, but I'm not. And it's none of your business anyway."

Elektra concealed a smile as she watched the X-Men's interest in Abby dim a little. They'd be perfectly happy to leave a - what do they call them? - a flat-scan in the company of a known terrorist. Only the mutants will be saved. How the Cure must have confused them.

Logan moved closer to the table, and leaned down over Abby's head, breathing in her scent. "Kid's well fed, and not scared. Don't reckon she's in any danger."

"Oh my God, did you just smell me? Gross!" Abby's expression was one of horrified fascination, and she hugged her arms protectively around her stomach, as though she could stop her scent from escaping. Logan's lips twitched.

"Abby, hurry along now, your father will be wondering where you are." Elektra fixed Abby with a stare, then made a casual shooing gesture with her hand, as though she couldn't care less about where Abby went. "I think we've all accomplished what we wanted from this little meeting." She stood up suddenly, and the three X-Men tensed, their attention completely diverted from Abby, who slipped away from the table and headed for the car-park. "Let's not cause anymore of a scene. We wouldn't want any innocent bystanders to be hurt."

The blue one, Beast, laid his hand on Storm's arm, and she nodded in agreement. With a final glare at Elektra, she turned and strode for the exit. Little eddies of air curled round in her wake. Beast followed her, his brow furrowed, obviously cogitating the implications of a reversible Cure, and what that might mean for the mutants who had taken it. Logan waited a moment then leaned over the table to whisper in her ear.

"You owe me one, E."

Hearing McCabe's nickname for her was a shock, and Elektra frowned so that it wouldn't show on her face. She looked at the weathered, ageless face – Logan knew McCabe? Another mentor, like Mystique? The idea was comforting in a way, as though McCabe was not completely lost. The thought of McCabe as a raw beginner almost made her smile – if he could begin something new, then maybe she could, too. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, gave this Logan a curt nod and he slipped away after his team-mates. She watched them go, then looked for the waiter, John. It was none of her concern if whatever ruse Mystique had set up may have failed. The deal had been arranged, regardless of the outcome. Her part of the bargain had been upheld.

Together, she and John walked out to the underground parking garage, maintaining the ruse as long as they were visible from the dining area, then he peeled away from her side, throwing his apron into the trash and lighting a cigarette. He gave Elektra a wave, the air shimmering in the palm of his hand, then he walked up the ramp to ground-level and disappeared.

 

Back at the car, Abby was sitting in the driver's seat as though nothing had happened, but she scooted across to the passenger seat as soon as Elektra put her hand on the door. Mark was sound asleep on the back seat. A plastic folder had been tucked under one wiper, and she opened it – passports, tickets and a note in Mystique's writing: 'Get out of the country for a month. I'll send you a sign when things have been arranged. Nice to work with you again.'

Abby watched nervously as Elektra started the car. "Are you mad at me?" She had her shoes on, and laced up.

Elektra ignored her while she negotiated the car back into traffic. As the car emerged from the underground lot, rain pelted the windshield. Abby shivered, and flicked on the heater, hunching miserably into her sweater.

"We're not dead. I'm not mad." Elektra flipped the wipers on, and moved the car out onto the freeway. "You don't get grounded for not doing what I say. You get the rest of your family killed."

Abby smiled, hiding her face behind the oversized sleeves of her sweater. "You said 'the rest of your family.' Not just me and my dad." She seemed incredibly pleased with herself, as though she had tricked Elektra.

"Did I?" Elektra took the turn-off for the nearest airport. She had reached the final item on her to-do list, and realised that beyond that was another list, and another. Teenagers gave no respite, there was no such thing as a normal life, and beginning life anew was suddenly an exhilarating prospect. Defeating the Hand was a piece of cake in comparison.


End file.
